


Moron

by Raerola (zaelish)



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: @shibakimi chat: I hate yall, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Sexual Fantasy, a whiff of a smell fetish but uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 14:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaelish/pseuds/Raerola
Summary: Kimishita comes across Ooshiba's forgotten jersey and takes it home.





	Moron

It's the second time this week that someone has left their clothes in the locker room and now Kimishita was getting really pissed. _Lazy assholes, leaving without even bothering to clean up the goddamn place after themselves._ He doesn't know how tidy the soccer teams in the other schools are, but he assumes they're probably better than Seiseki's. With a click of his tongue, Kimishita walks over to the crumpled piece of clothing thrown on the floor and picks it up. A jersey this time. What's more, _Ooshiba's_ jersey. _That fucking moron._

The fact that it's nowhere near the first time that Kiichi has left something _anywhere_ \- be it a jersey, cleats, or his own goddamn brain - irritates Kimishita even more. The never-learning redhead seriously needs to be disciplined, he thinks, and Kimishita's scolding never seems to work anyway (not that it'd keep him from thoroughly yelling at the idiot tomorrow, though). After folding the jersey and carefully putting it away into his backpack _(he can't just leave it here, can he?)_ Kimishita throws a last glance around the empty locker room and, with a satisfied huff, decides to finally head home. 

\---

He sits on his bed and shoots the dimwit a text:

 

**Find anything out of place?**

 

The reply comes several minutes later:

 

**[Kiichi] Huh**

**You better thank me, I have your jersey**

**[Kiichi] What**

**[Kiichi] Why**

 

Is he being serious right now?

 

**You forgot your jersey at school, moron**

**[Kiichi] Oh really**

**[Kiichi] K**

 

Kimishita lets out an annoyed groan and flings his phone onto the bed. The idiot probably wouldn't have noticed that his jersey was missing if Kimishita hadn't told him, and even if he did, he wouldn't have given a shit anyway. He really ought to teach Kiichi to take care of his things, even if he has to bash it into his brain. After mentally calling him an idiot one more time, Kimishita crosses the room to his backpack and pulls the jersey out. The shirt doesn't reek, thanks to its owner slacking off at practice again (no surprise there, as usual), but instead carries a faint scent of fresh sweat mixed in with some sort of deodorant or body spray. In fact, that scent is very familiar.

Kiichi's scent.

And Kimishita kind of wants to smell it some more. Just out of curiosity. He brings the jersey closer to his face and inhales, welcoming the vision of Kiichi that's now appearing in his mind and getting clearer by the second. Somehow, breathing in Kiichi's scent makes the vision feel more real than usual, the smell almost like a puzzle piece that makes the picture a little bit more complete.

_If only he could reach out and feel him, too._

Kimishita pretends he didn't think that just now. 

Instead, he takes a look at the jersey itself. Now that he thinks about it, he never really paid heed to how much bigger Kiichi is than him. Sure, he's taller, but height isn't everything. Kimishita holds the jersey to his torso. Well, it's obviously too big, that's no surprise. What is a surprise, though, is that Kimishita suddenly feels the strangest urge to put it on. Perplexed by his own behavior, he tries to find a reason for this random urge appearing out of nowhere. He can't.

It's not like he needs a reason, anyway.

Cursing everything and everyone, Kimishita hastily takes off his own shirt and pulls Kiichi's jersey over his head. The hem of the two-sizes-too-big jersey reaches down to about a third of his thighs, not to mention it being ridiculously wide. The sleeves are long as hell, covering the entire arm, including the fingers, and the shoulder seams are definitely _not_ positioned where they're supposed to be. 

This is stupid, he thinks, he should just take it off already and go throw it into the washing machine. 

...or he could leave it on and think about... Kiichi's broad back. Kiichi's long muscular arms. His wide shoulders. The way the tendons in his neck protrude whenever he turns his head to look at Kimishita, even if it's usually followed by a familiar insult. The way Kiichi's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows in an attempt to wet his throat after an exhausting run. His quadriceps tensing and relaxing as he runs, calves bulging out when he stands still. Heart rate racing, chest rising and falling and he pants. Sweating. 

Sweating into _this very shirt_ that Kimishita is wearing right now.

Kimishita's lips part as he lets out the slightest of breaths and then inhales the musky scent that now envelops his whole very being.

As if on their own, his hands travel to his torso and start slowly rubbing, _scratching_ patterns into his sides and stomach and chest, making himself feel every inch of rough texture of the fabric that comes into contact with his skin. The jersey that Kiichi just wore not even two hours ago. The jersey that covered his strong, muscular body, the body that would surely feel amazing to be pressed against. Kimishita pictures running his hands down Kiichi's chest, feeling him and caressing him in this fantasy that feels so intoxicatingly _real_ , moving further down to stroke Kiichi's abs, feeling the muscles under his fingers contract at the foreign touch. He imagines Kiichi wrapping his strong arms around Kimishita's lower back, pulling him into a tight embrace. He can almost feel himself being pinned down by Kiichi's weight and can't help but wish to experience it for real sometime. 

"Fuck..." Kimishita can barely hear his own voice as he breathes out a curse. 

His hips shift slightly, as if asking for attention, and Kimisihita doesn't even realize as his hands slowly move down to palm himself through his shorts. An involuntary groan escapes his throat at the rough contact with the layers of fabric, and as he takes his hand away, he finds himself craving for more.

Fuck it, Kimishita thinks, as he climbs onto the bed and slides up to lean back against the pillow. He fumbles with the shorts to get them off, reaches over to his nightstand to take out a small bottle of lube before squeezing out some of the fluid into his hand and wrapping it around his fully hard cock. He starts to rub his hand up and down the shaft slowly, feeling the exposed glans with each pass, and can't suppress a light moan as he smoothes his thumb over the tip. Breathing in Kiichi's scent sends a new jolt of arousal into his crotch and he can already hear his voice break.

"Kiichi..."

His eyes flutter closed as he moves his unoccupied hand up to his chest and grazes his left nipple through the fabric of the jersey, groaning at the contact with the sensitive skin. God, he wants to touch Kiichi so bad, to _be touched by him_ , wants to feel Kiichi's hands running up and down his body, gripping his hips as Kimishita rocks his pelvis back and forth in pleasure. He wants to feel his hand on his cock, smoothing the precum along the whole shaft - Kimishita lets out another breathy moan as he does just that - now he's dizzy and writhing, seeking release of the throbbing tension in his cock, but also wanting it to last forever. In a jumble of thoughts, all he can make out is a vision of a certain redhead, a certain _moron_ who is utterly responsible for Kimishita's current state. Waves of raging heat submerge his entire body and he can almost _feel_ himself grinding against Kiichi, as if he was there.

The precum oozes out of Kimishita's cock as he strokes it - he's panting, his lips parted, moans escaping his throat when he twists his hand _this way_ and feels the fluttering in his pelvis get more intense. Feeling that he's going to come, Kimishita squeezes his hand around his cock and pumps it faster, sensing a pulsing buildup in his balls as he bites his lip and shuts his eyes tight...

His mind goes completely blank as pure bliss washes over him and his whole body tightens. He lets out a huge breath he had no idea he was holding and his hot cum squirts out onto his hand and stomach, toes curling into the bedsheets as he moans.

 

Kimishita opens his eyes after a minute of panting only to grimace in shock at the image of strings of cum adorning Kiichi's jersey. 

Fucking great.

...What the hell did he just _do_.

With his face instantaneously heating up like it's on fire and horror growing by the second, Kimishita jumps up from the bed and storms to the laundry room, taking the jersey off on the way and slamming it into the washing machine. He relaxes just a tiny bit when the machine starts to buzz with a familiar sound of cleaning. 

 

Now he could only pray that it wouldn't stain.

\---

"Are you gonna give me my jersey back?"

Kimishita jumps at the sudden, demanding voice resounding behind him.

He stutters.

"H-huh... Oh. Yeah, give me a second..." _Shit. Shit shit shit shitshitshitshitsh_

"...you okay?" _Fuck. Since when could Kiichi read him like a book?_

"What the hell? Of course I am!" With an annoyed and not at all convincing huff, Kimishita pulls the jersey out of his backpack and shoves it into Kiichi's chest. Realizing that it was a mistake was too late, since he could already feel his face lighting up with a flush.

"Did you wash it or something?"

Kimishita regrets everything and wants to be struck by lightning at this very moment.

"Yes, I did," he said, feeling his face heat up even more. He has to say something natural. "And how many times have I told you not to leave your stuff all around the place, huh? Get your shit together, you moron! The next time this happens, I'll seriously fucking kill you!" He gathers his courage to look Kiichi in the eye for two seconds, huffs again (still pretty unconvincingly) and storms out, leaving a confused (but for some reason grinning) Kiichi in the locker room.

_That fucking moron._

Kimishita has no idea how he's going to get though the day.


End file.
